


lose yourself in lines dissecting love

by weepingnaiad



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers join Team Bus, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Phil Coulson & Nick Fury Friendship, Post-Agents of SHIELD season one, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Skye Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil gets the flu, the final indignity after long weeks, and many miles, spent recruiting agents with only meager returns.  Just when Phil's feeling at his lowest point and too sick to function, Nick shows up with help.  The Avengers.  And one Avenger in particular: Clint Barton.  Unless it's all just a fever dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lose yourself in lines dissecting love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaragdbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragdbird/gifts).



> **Beta:** My greatest gratitude goes to abigail89, who, as usual, saved me at the very last hour. Thank you, m'dear! As ever, I couldn't have done this without you! If you do see errors, they're all on me because I fiddle after she looked through it.

"You look like hell, Cheese. Worse than after Beirut," Nick said, striding into Phil's room without bothering to knock first.

"Fuck you," Phil ground out, further burrowing into the covers.

"Melinda told me you were being a stubborn ass. Worked yourself down until that recirculated poisonous shit they deem 'air' on commercial flights laid you flat. You’ve got no one but yourself to blame."

"It's just a cold," Phil argued. Not actually argued, he didn't have the strength for that. He had the mother of all headaches and alternated between Antarctic levels of cold and depths of Hell hot, but that didn't mean it was the flu. He was the Director of SHIELD. He didn't have time to be sick.

"The hell it is," Nick countered.

"Fuck you, Mister Super Serum blood," Phil croaked, the little whimper at the end completely involuntary.

Nick chuckled low in his throat, then shoved Phil's legs over to sit on the end of the bed.

"This is why I'm here," he said.

"What? Your blood?" Phil peeked out over the covers. "Oh, hell, no! You are not my nursemaid!"

"No shit, Sherlock. I don't do that touchy-feely crap. You must be delirious to even suggest that."

"Then why the fuck _are_ you here?"

"I brought help."

"Help?"

"Boots on the ground. _People._ Assets, Typhoid Mary."

"Who vetted them?"

"I did," Melinda said, shutting down any protest Phil might attempt to make and making his eyes go wide. He had not completely missed Melinda's presence in the room. He couldn't be _that_ out of it. "You've infected the entire team. Already taken down half, with the other half just a matter of time. We need some help."

"Fine. Whatever." Not like he'd argue about more assets. But then his lungs started that burning, twitching thing and he had to cough which hurt like a motherfucker. He groaned when he could finally stop to catch a breath again.

"Idiot," a voice said. A voice that Phil knew better than his own; one that had kept him company in dreams for the better part of a year. One that couldn't possibly be here.

He refused to open his eyes in case the warm hand on his cheek was Melinda's and the fond chuckle was Nick's. His throat tightened and he couldn't speak, more coughs threatening.

"Phil, open your eyes. I brought you chicken soup."

He still kept his eyes tightly closed, his fingers spasmed in the blankets.

"You always were the worst patient," Clint said, his raspy baritone warm, a bit fond, without one ounce of accusation. That meant it had to be a hallucination. He must have the flu.

"It's not a dream and you're not hallucinating," Clint said.

Phil must have said his thoughts aloud.

"Open your eyes and _see,_ sir," Clint said, smile clear in his tone.

Phil relented, even though he felt like his inner child had surfaced. He was getting everything he'd ever wanted, but it couldn't be true. Sure enough, Clint Barton was standing over him, his eyes twinkling above a familiar (much loved and desperately missed) smirk.

"There you are."

Phil had no words in reply; he wouldn't even if he'd been fully functional.

"Barton?" he asked, which set off another round of coughing, leaving him aching—head swimming, lungs wheezy.

When he stopped after an eternity of wracking coughs that felt like he'd torn out a lung, Clint was still there, calloused hand on Phil's neck, supporting him. "Drink this. It'll help you sleep."

Phil sniffed the mug Clint held out for him, but was too clogged up to smell a damn thing. "What is it?"

"Tea."

Phil eyed the dark brown liquid suspiciously, but took a small sip. The warmth soothed his ravaged throat; some magic ingredient even eased his congestion. "I think there's more than tea in here," he muttered after almost finishing the cup. Languorous heat was stealing over him, spreading outward toward his limbs. He had to remind himself to open his eyes once he realized they had closed.

"A couple more sips, sir, then you can sleep," Clint murmured, voice muffled against Phil's hair.

Phil didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to chance that this was all a fever dream, but his eyes were too heavy to keep open and his limbs felt massive and oddly floaty. 

"Clint," he whispered. "Stay." 

Then he drifted off.

~~*~~

Phil woke a couple of times in the night, his fever breaking near dawn. He swore that someone had tended him, held him when chills racked him, applied a wet cloth when the heat was too much, but it was all a haze, stolen by the fever. He remembered feeling safe and cared for, secure, but little more.

He woke alone.

His room was exactly as he'd left it, nothing extra, nothing out of place. Had he dreamed Nick's visit?

Then two impossible things happened at once.

A shirtless Clint Barton stepped out of Phil's bathroom still damp from the shower while Skye stepped into the room bearing a tray of food, her smile hidden behind a mask.

"Good morning, AC!"

"AC?"

"Hey!" Skye greeted Clint as she set the tray over Phil's legs. "AC, I had no idea you knew all the Avengers, and Hawkeye in particular." She winked at him and Phil groaned, throwing an arm over his face.

"Skye."

Clint chuckled, that deep rumble that made Phil's heart skip a beat. Although it could just be the flu.

"Your girl’s quite the talent, sir. She and Tony lost me about five minutes in."

"Stark is here?" Phil hoped he was dreaming now.

"Hell, yes!" Skye answered. "And Thor! Oh my god, AC! That man's -- god's? Eh, whatever. His _arms._ "

Phil cracked one eye open. "Please tell me Captain Rogers is not here?"

Skye nudged him in the ribs. "Sit up and try to eat. I'll tell you all about Steve and Trip."

"Steve?" Phil spluttered.

Skye's smile was wicked. _Oh lord._ Phil looked at Clint. "Please tell me that my team has not been throwing themselves at Captain Rogers."

"Not the _whole_ team, sir. Melinda is much more interested in Thor." Clint grinned that little abashed smile that Phil could never resist. "I don't think Steve minds. He's asking as many questions of Trip as are being directed at him."

"Ah."

"Eat up, AC. You need to get better. The team's doubled in size and it includes Tony Stark!"

Phil couldn't help but return Skye's smile. Hers was wide enough to be clearly visible behind the mask, while his was weak. Still, it was heartening to see her smile again. After… well, _after_ everything, Phil had been worried that the old Skye was permanently buried beneath an avalanche of betrayal and heartache.

Phil sighed, but lifted the mug of tea to his lips and cocked an eyebrow at Skye.

She glanced over at Clint -- again -- who was running a towel through his already fluffy hair and preening a bit. Phil _knew_ he was. There was no reason for his biceps to flex like that. The gorgeous, teasing asshole.

"Skye? Don't you want to harass Tony Stark some more?" Phil asked.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah. Hey! No. I am not harassing Tony. He's… well, I don't think I _could._ "

Clint snorted. "You're not wrong there."

Phil glared at Clint who just smiled back at Phil. And how in the hell was Phil supposed to resist him? It'd been so very long.

"Um, I'll just…" Skye stammered. "Later, gators!" she blurted out, the door slamming behind her.

Clint chuckled, then crawled on the bed toward Phil.

Phil forgot to breathe as he stalked closer.

"We-we should talk," he gasped out.

Clint hovered close, their lips drawing near when Phil realized. "Oh!" He hastily covered his mouth with his hand. "Sorry, there's something dead in my mouth."

Clint sat back on his heels, head cocked, eyes intent. He was studying Phil, the way he always had. It had been unnerving at first, the way he almost seemed to read Phil's mind, but he'd gotten used to it, even enjoyed having someone know him that well, that intimately. But it'd been a year and so fucking much had happened that Phil turned away. He ached at the loss, but how did he deserve Clint's trust now?

"Okay. If that's how you want to be. You always were a self-sacrificing martyr even before Loki."

Phil jerked his head back. Clint was still there, still looking as delicious as ever, smile still in place, only his eyes were no longer sparkling.

"How can you forgive me?"

"How can you forgive me, sir? I got you dead. Seems like there's more than enough blame to go round."

"That was not on you!" Phil declared, voice too hard which started another coughing fit.

Clint leapt up, removed the tray and supported Phil once again.

"Dammit!" Phil swore. Clint jerked away and Phil reached out, snagged his arm and reeled him back. "No. Not you. Me," he rasped. "Give me a second and then we're getting this shit out and over with."

"Right to the point. Same as ever. Drink your tea, sir." Clint held out the mug.

"It's not drugged is it?"

"Nope. It wasn't last night, either. Just a bit of bourbon, this doesn't even have that."

Phil must have looked skeptical.

"Scout's honor! You were three sheets to the wind even without the tea."

"Thank you," Phil said, his words simple, but he hoped to convey more than mere gratitude for Clint's presence. There was so much wrapped up inside him that had Clint at its center. He'd been fighting to keep it tucked away, tightly wound, so that none of it slipped free and here Clint was, in the flesh, unraveling everything and leaving Phil bare and vulnerable.

Phil savored the tea, dawdled with it, slowly sipping as he tried to gather his thoughts.

When he set the cup down, Clint said, "So, me first."

"But--"

"Nope. I know what's going on in your head."

"Fury tattle?"

Clint laughed. "Melinda, actually."

"She doesn't know--"

"Doesn't know what? How hard you are on yourself? How you're blaming yourself over the whole Hydra thing? Over Garrett? Or even worse, over Ward?"

"I--"

"Look, Phil, I'm not gonna lie and say that I didn't curse your name when I learned you hadn't died. I fuckin' mourned your fabulous ass, but I'm no idiot. I know what this business is like and I know that you were Fury's Plan B. He needed you off the radar, saw a chance and made it happen. We're spies. It's what we do."

"But--"

"But what?"

"I don't… dammit, Clint," Phil couldn't begin to keep up, not when his heart was filled to bursting and all he wanted to do was tug Clint close and curl up in bed with him and never move again.

Clint cocked his head, waiting.

Phil huffed out a breath and barely kept from starting a coughing jag again. "I should have called."

"Should you? Would that have been a good idea?" Clint leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes dark and intense. "Wouldn't that have given the Clairvoyant even more power over you?" He shrugged, broke eye contact, then leaned against the footboard once again. "Not like Fury didn't keep me away, too. None of us expected this shit, but Fury always did have a couple of aces up his sleeve. I'm kind of flattered we were ones he relied on."

"You're not making this easy."

"What?"

"I want to apologize! I want to tell you how much I missed you… every single damned day!"

Clint grinned. This smile lit his eyes. "Then tell me, babe. Been a shitty year without you."

Phil shook his head, exasperated and so over the moon in love with the gorgeous man before him, he threw the covers off and crawled to Clint.

"What about that dead animal, sir?" But Clint's eyes were challenging.

"I drank tea. And I love you," Phil said, then kissed Clint. He pressed him back, tried to dive in, but ended up gasping for breath before the kiss could grow too heated.

Clint just chuckled. "Don't go making promises you're in no shape to keep."

Phil rested his head on Clint's shoulder and reveled in the strong arms holding him. "Will you take a raincheck?"

"From you? Any day."

Phil's chest stuttered and heaved. He thought it might be more coughing to come, but no. He suddenly felt less burdened, freer, whole. He was ridiculously in love with this man and shouldn't have kept away, world security be damned.

He lifted his head to gaze up at Clint. "You okay? I heard about Ashqabat."

"Old news. Hydra operatives aren't as smart or as good as they think they are."

"You take too many chances," Phil chided, real worry underlining the gentle prodding.

"Speak for yourself. Tony saw Lola and nearly cried. Skye spilled the beans."

"Lola got us home."

"She almost didn't." Clint's arms tightened around Phil.

"Guess we're both prone to danger."

"But you're the Director now. You shouldn't be risking yourself like that."

"I wasn't the director at the time."

"Semantics."

Phil huffed out a breath and pressed a kiss to Clint's Adam's apple. "You're right. I'm sorry. I don't want to argue with you. Can we stay here like this?"

"With me holding you while you sleep? I think that can be arranged."

"So you're staying?"

"You asked me to. Of course, I am."

"Clint."

Clint leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Phil's lips. "Can we just leave it? It's behind us. And we're here. Together. I have no interest in dwelling on the past."

"I don't deserve you," Phil said. "But I'm damned grateful you're mine."

"Let's shift around and get you some much needed rest, sir. You'll need your stamina to show me just how grateful you are."

"Ass."

"But you love me this way."

"I do. So fuckin' much."

"Sap."

"Just for you."

Clint's smile was that small, genuine smile that no one ever got to see except Phil. He went to sleep dreaming of that smile with warm arms keeping him safe.

~~*~~

Phil slept the next day and night away, but everytime he awoke, Clint was there to feed him medicine and tea and keep him standing when he needed to pee. He was ridiculously grateful for Clint's presence and babbled to that effect time and time again, until Clint chuckled fondly at him.

There were other visitors, too. Possibly. It was all terribly fuzzy, but he swore that Skye kept leading Avengers in like a tour group until Clint would shoo them out. Or Phil could have dreamed all that.

Phil couldn't deny that he was noticeably nervous when he finally was strong enough -- according to Clint anyway; he'd felt fine the morning before, just a little bit of fever confusion to blame for thinking Melinda was a teletubbie -- to venture into the Playground proper to suss out the damage. He was truly prepared for the worst because Tony Stark and Skye had had a full three days to concoct trouble and not even Melinda could keep up with those two.

But when he strolled into the common room, suit and tie on, everything seemed in its place. There weren't even any stray Avengers loitering around. That should have made him nervous, but he was really just relieved. Stark probably got bored.

"He lives!" Skye said, her enthusiasm genuine and pulling an answering smile from Phil. 

"The place is in tact? Nobody burned down the labs? The bus is still operational?"

Melinda came up behind him, her steps masked by her partner's. "Easy there, Phil."

"We kept the hooligans under control, sir," Natasha said and Phil turned.

The misty-eyed feeling was just from the lingering congestion. And the weight in his chest was just from all the coughing. There was no way he was this overcome just by seeing for himself that Natasha was fine. She was in one piece, looking no worse for wear despite what she'd been forced to do.

Clint nudged Phil forward. "Hey, Nat. Nursed him back to health. The combination of bourbon and chicken soup was just what the doc ordered."

Natasha's eyes flicked to Clint, and then back, boring a hole through Phil. "Didn't know zombies could get the flu."

Phil swallowed. "It's good to see you Natasha. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

She moved one step forward, took his hand, then shook her head. "It's what we do, sir. Nick told me."

"You knew?"

"Not before Clint, no. But after." She grinned, her eyes wicked, her smile sharp. "Nick took the fall for you." She pressed a light kiss to his knuckles before releasing his hand. "He wasn't too upset with the way it turned out." And there was the Black Widow in all her glory--beautiful, sexy, radiant, a vixen and a maiden all rolled into one; whatever you needed her to be. Phil had always just needed her to be Natasha.

"I was worried," Phil said, trying to draw Natasha back out of the Widow.

"About me? Or about Cap?" she asked him. Deflecting.

"Natasha," Phil said, voice firm as he touched her shoulder, then her chin. He never forced Natasha, that was unwise, but he prodded, gentled, encouraged her to look at him. To see the full truth of just who he'd been afraid for; what he'd fretted about when he'd learned just what she'd done. How much of herself -- all of her -- she'd given away. It had been a singularly selfless act. One that Phil was not sure he could have done.

She met his eyes, a slight swallow her only tell. "Sir, I'm glad you're back. You were missed."

Her trust in him after everything was humbling. He wanted to say more, to tell her… so much. "As were you," he offered instead. He'd start small, deserve her trust once again.

"And now that we have that out of the way," Melinda interrupted. "There is the little matter in the den."

"The den?" Phil asked.

Skye jumped up. "Oh, right! Yeah, the matter in the den." She tugged on Phil's arm and he looked at Clint who just shrugged helplessly. He had no clue, either.

"Skye," Phil tried to stop her.

"Hey, no, AC. Technically, you're not cleared for duty until Jemma says so. And since you took Jemma down with you, Melinda's the boss, so you have to come with me."

Phil followed along reluctantly, noticing the halls were clear along the way. It was late morning. They didn't have a lot of agents, but surely the flu hadn't really taken out half the base?

Clint stepped to Phil's side, murmuring, "C'mon, babe, it's probably a good thing."

Phil reached for his hand and threaded their fingers.

He had no idea what he'd expected, but seeing his team playing video games, Mario Kart to be exact, with the Avengers was not it.

The long table had been set, someone had even found candle holders. They looked a bit like spare tubing, but they fit the atmosphere. There were dishes on warming trays and the place smelled of coffee and maple bacon. Phil's stomach growled. Loudly.

"Agent Agent!" Tony greeted, moving from behind the sofa where he was coaching Steve against Trip and Thor, while Bruce chatted with a pale Jemma. "Or should I say Director Agent?" Tony continued.

Phil held out his hand. "Stark."

Tony didn't take it; instead, he grabbed Phil for a hug. "It's Tony."

Phil did hug him back, even if it was quick. He was touched by Tony's display. "Then you can call me Director, Stark."

"Har-har. You are just a barrel of laughs. Though you are looking pretty spry for a dead guy. Lot of that going around." Tony turned in a quick 360 degree arc. "And this place. Holy hell. I think my dad built this place. Isn't this original SSR?" He nudged Phil in the ribs. "You are mister nostalgia, aren't you?"

There was a roar from the gamers and Trip jumped up, arms held high. "Yes!"

Thor stood, shouting, "By Fenris's Chew Toy!" as he bumped Trip's chest, nearly knocking Trip down. Luckily, Steve had stood up, too, and kept Trip upright. And Phil would deny to his dying day that he was at all jealous of Trip for just an instant, but Skye hooted and he knew he wasn't the only one thinking Trip was hella lucky.

"We should eat before the food gets cold!" Melinda reminded the backslapping gamers and the chattering scientists.

Phil was gratified to see Jemma give Bruce a shy smile when he offered her a hand up.

"C'mon, babe. Head of the table for you," Clint whispered at Phil's six.

Phil looked at his lover and had to pause to catch his breath. Not because of the flu, or the fever, but because he was the luckiest man alive and all of this was too impossible to be real. He leaned toward Clint, tangled their fingers and touched foreheads. "This is real, isn't it? I'm not traveling through the seven levels of hell or anything like that, right? You'd find a way to tell me, wouldn't you?"

"This is real." Tony and Steve got into a verbal sparring match over who was sitting where, both of them sounding far less mature than Phil expected. Clint grinned. "See?"

"You're right, Hell would have to be worse and Heaven," he hesitated. Then met Clint's eyes and kissed him full on the lips in view of the entire room. "Well, Heaven couldn't be better."

Skye clapped and cheered, with Jemma joining in. Everyone else was more at Tony's level with catcalls and hooting. Phil didn't give a damn. His world had imploded twice, taking his life and then everything he'd thought he stood for, but he had Clint and this team of crazies. Everything was going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** As ever my brilliant and supportive title whisperer pointed me toward The Shins "Past and Pending". Thanks, my dearest, hitlikehammers.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** These are Marvel and Whedon and ABC's characters used in the spirit of creative commons. I promise to return them with smiles on.


End file.
